Katerina turned around just in time to dodge his hurtling form. As he lunged for her again she barely sidestepped his flailing arms.
"Martin, stop that! You're going to fall and hurt yourself!"
Martin glared at her, ready to yell, “That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone do!” But then, glancing down at his own boots on the platform, he realized he was just as stupid as her—and just as alive. Observing the look of relief Katerina barely concealed on her face, he also saw that her faith wasn't blind at all. And it was very courageous.
Katerina sidled closer to him. “May I have my video camera back? I'd like to record as much of the surface of this object as I can."
Martin handed the video camera to her, then peered uneasily down at his feet. Here, with them both standing about five meters from the edge of the platform, he could see more of the strange squares. Most seemed, like the ones they'd examined before, to contain cryptic writing in no known language.
But other squares were uniquely alien. One held a hypnotizing swirl of colors that seemed to swell like a tide from the warmth of the infrared through the visible spectrum to the ultraviolet, then recede back again in a kaleidoscope of garish hues. Another was pitch black—like a hole into nothingness. That one he avoided approaching too close, in case it really was a one-way trip into the abyss. A third square rumbled menacingly when he stepped on it, becoming quiescent again as he quickly twisted his leg back onto firmer territory.
Slowly, carefully, they treaded toward the center of the metal platform. Martin glanced back to see the dust and mud from their footprints eddy up from its surface. That dirt shot across and off the edge of the artifact as if blown by a strong wind—except there wasn't any wind. He hoped this alien object they were walking on was smart enough to realize that Katerina and he weren't merely large pieces of flotsam.
Katerina wandered a little ahead of Martin as he stopped to test a blank, mauve-colored square with his transceiver. The square was transmitting an amplitude modulated signal at 700 kHz. It almost sounded like someone was speaking words in a foreign language—
"Martin, come here!"
Clipping the transceiver to his belt, he ran to Katerina's side and followed her finger pointing toward a square at her feet. She exclaimed, “Those look like Chinese characters!"
Katerina pointed again. “And the letters in that square are definitely Greek!"
She turned her video camera back on and aimed it down at the squares. “How many languages do you know besides English?"
"You know how bad my Russian is. Otherwise, I took two years of Spanish in high school and read a book called French for Morons once."
Katerina walked slowly away from him, eyes and camera fixed downward. “I'm fluent in both those languages as well as German and Dutch. I can also at least read a number of Slavic languages."
She stopped. “This square has Arabic characters! I bet if we look long enough we'll find squares with every major language on Earth!"
Martin frowned. “But if you're right, this whole artifact might be the equivalent of—"
"The Rosetta Stone? Exactly! Every square must hold the same message in a different language, so whoever came here would be able to read it no matter what their native tongue!"
"Sounds plausible. But how do you explain all those weird squares we've found? The ones with all the funny squiggles, smells, and sounds?"
Katerina walked slowly ahead of him. “I can think of an explanation, but that would mean—"
She stopped suddenly, her eye pressed to the video camera's viewfinder as its lens stared long and hard at the square at her feet. When she didn't say anything for a while, Martin trotted to her side, saw the letters within the square—and recognized them.
Before he could speak, Martin jerked as a single chilling word from Katerina roared in his ears.
* * * *
"RUN!"
* * * *
Martin bounded up the ramp of the habitation module and swung his head wildly from side to side, looking for Katerina. He screamed her name again as he threw himself through the nearest compartments of the module, barely daring to breathe for fear he might catch the nauseating aroma of burning flesh. Please, God, let her be safe—
He found her sitting in the communications compartment, rapidly attaching a cable between the video camera and a monitor. His explosive sigh of relief quickly turned to puzzled anger. “What are you doing?"
Katerina finished plugging the silver cable into the monitor and turned on the video camera. Flashing images of the squares on the platform they'd just fled raced in reverse across the monitor screen until she hit the “Pause” button. She yelled, “Don't ask questions! Check to see if anyone or anything, like a spaceship, is approaching us!"
The frantic expression on her face matched his own—and what she said made sense. Martin dropped into the compartment's other chair and activated the radar and optical surveillance system. His hands raced over the controls, searching in the late afternoon sunlight for any movement in the sky or on the ground near the habitation module. Then he switched to the radar and camera aboard the Scout orbiter overhead.
He shouted, “No sign of anything nearby!"
"Thank God! Maybe it's not too late!"
Katerina tore her gaze from the monitor and adjusted their rack-mounted main transceiver. With a tense voice she slowly spoke a few sentences in Russian into a microphone. Then she pressed several switches and swiveled around to face Martin.
She sighed, “There. I've set it to transmit the message I just recorded continuously. Now all we can do is wait for a response."
Martin yelled, “What do you mean, ‘wait'? You've sent the distress signal, now we've got to run to the ascent vehicle and blast back into orbit before it's too late!"
"What are you talking about? I'm not sending a distress signal. I'm transmitting a message to the aliens."
Martin's jaw dropped. “Are you out of your mind? Do you want them to find out we're here and kill us?"
"Kill us?"
Katerina pointed at the still frame on the monitor screen. It showed a close-up of the square with Cyrillic characters within it. “I know your Russian isn't very good, but I thought you'd eventually be able to read what this says."
"I couldn't make out any of it! But right after you ran away I found the square written in English! It must contain the same message as yours!"
"I'm sure it did. But why do you think—wait, did you read the entire message?"
"I read enough of it to know why you ran away—and that you were in danger!"
Katerina glared at him. “You thought I was afraid—"
Her face softened. “And you thought I was in danger and were coming to rescue me. I don't know whether to slap you or kiss you!"
Katerina leaned forward and brushed her lips against her fiancée's bristly cheek. “If you'd read the whole message, you'd know why I ran away. And you'd know that we aren't in danger—but the human race is!"
She glanced at the empty radar screen beside him and then settled back into her chair. “When I read the message I knew every second counted. There was no time to argue with you about what it meant. I knew you'd follow me back—and you did, even if it was for the wrong reason. And while I was running back here I thought about everything the aliens have done and why they've been so mysterious.
"These aliens aren't just experts at planetary engineering. They're masters of human psychology. If they'd simply landed on Earth and shown themselves, everyone's focus would have been on them and not on what they were doing to Mars."
Katerina's eyes darkened. “Instead, the aliens were devilishly clever. What they did motivated us to go to Mars far more effectively than any speech. They stayed in the background and put on a show for us. All the incredible things they've done to this planet were designed to make us watch Mars and think about Mars. They aroused our curiosity and made enough people finally realize how important Mars is as a second chance for humanity. By living here, we in
crease the odds of the human race surviving despite all the foolish things we've done to ourselves and to Earth. Without Mars, we may have no future.
"The aliens dangled those hopes and dreams in front of us without saying a word. They showed us just enough to let our imaginations fill in the blanks without having to tell us anything. Now that they've manipulated us to come here in person, they're increasing the pressure on us to want to stay here. They want us to feel so excited about living here, make us so afraid we'll lose the planet, that we'll do anything and pay any price to possess Mars!"
Martin shouted, “That doesn't make any sense! Why would these aliens lure us here, build up our hopes of colonizing Mars—and then threaten to destroy us?
"Martin, what did the message in your square say?"
"It was at the top of the square, all in big blue letters. ‘This world is the property of Interstellar Development, Inc. Unauthorized use of this planet is forbidden. Trespassers will be disintegrated.’”
Katerina shook her head. “Oh, these aliens are fiendishly subtle. They even shaded the messages for each of us."
She gestured to the Russian words on the monitor. “My square reads, ‘This world is under the jurisdiction of the State Committee on Planetary Construction Policy. Authorized personnel only. Trespassers will be shot.’”
"Disintegrated, shot, what's the difference? Either way we're just as dead!"
"Oh, Martin, if you'd only read the rest of the message, you would have saved yourself so much unnecessary worry! It's the part that said we aren't in danger!"
Katerina brought her fingertip close to the monitor screen. “I put the recording on the monitor to make sure I remembered what it said correctly. Roughly translated, the words at the bottom of this square say, ‘Open planet—today only. If you like what you see, call us on 1420 MHz for more information on how this world can be yours.’ The message I'm transmitting is asking for that information."
"I don't get it. Are you saying ‘open planet’ means we're temporarily invited to be here? And if they really want to talk with us, why did the aliens put that message to contact them on just some of the squares? I can understand them doing ones in Chinese or Arabic if they didn't know what languages we spoke. But why did they make all those weird squares with the psychedelic lights and funny smells and sounds?"
Katerina's face darkened. “I think I know—and it explains why the gravity, atmosphere, and average temperatures here were modified to be similar to but not the same as we have on Earth. Those strange squares could even be just a trick to put more pressure on us. But if they are a real threat, the future of the human race is at stake!
"I believe all the squares on that artifact contain the same message. Some of them are meant to be read by human beings, but others are in languages spoken or sensed by creatures who aren't from Earth. The environment that Mars has now must be close enough to their own worlds’ to be as comfortable for them as it is for us."
She sighed in frustration at the blank look on her crewmate's face. “Don't you see, Martin? That artifact is a gigantic ‘For Sale’ sign! We humans may be first in line because we live in the neighborhood, but the aliens who renovated Mars are advertising it to potential customers from other worlds too! That's why it's important we get our bid in and close the sale as soon as possible—before some thing else buys Mars!"
Martin stared at her. Finally he said, “What you're saying almost makes sense. But if you're right, we still have a major problem. The aliens who made your ‘sign’ are incredibly powerful and scientifically advanced. They can move and reshape entire worlds. What could we puny, primitive humans have that they might take as payment for an entire planet?"
"I don't know, and that worries me. Let's just hope you and I can negotiate a price that's acceptable to them and to our leaders back home."
"I have a better idea. I still think we're in danger, but I'm willing to take time to contact Mission Control and get an official decision on whether we should stay or leave. In return, I want you to promise me that if there's any sign of trouble, we should both get out of here as fast as—"
Martin stopped talking. There was a faint rhythmic thudding noise outside. It sounded like heavy footsteps on the ramp leading into the open entrance of the habitation module.
He looked back at the radar screen and then checked the module's internal surveillance cameras. The thing from another world that his instruments said wasn't there crept closer and closer through the module with a steadily louder, ponderous gait. Now Martin could hear the low-pitched swoosh of breathing, as deep and dark as a great whale's call in the ocean depths, coming ever nearer.
Katerina clutched the cross suspended from her neck with her right hand and raised her left index finger to her lips. She whispered to him, “Be still.” Martin studied the nervously calm expression on her face as she sat waiting. He tried his best to imitate it.
A hulking, oddly shaped shadow fell across the entrance to the communications compartment. As the shadow's creator slunk into sight Martin struggled furiously to make sense of the impossible image reflecting off his eyes. Then the monster from the Interstellar Development corporation spoke in the friendly tenor of a TV game show host.
It said, “Let's make a deal."
Copyright (c) 2007 H. G. Stratmann
[Back to Table of Contents]
THE REFERENCE LIBRARY Tom Easton
The Sons of Heaven, Kage Baker, Tor, $25.95, 431 pp. (ISBN: 0-7653-1746-X).
Radio Freefall, Matthew Jarpe, Tor, $24.95, 316 pp. (ISBN: 0-7653-1784-2).
Spindrift, Allen Steele, Ace, $24.95, 354 pp. (ISBN: 978-0-441-01471-2).
Postsingular, Rudy Rucker, Tor, $25.95, 320 pp. (ISBN: 0-7653-1741-9).
Payback City, John Barnes, E-Junkie (tinyurl.com/3btn28), $4.00, 422 pp.
Beyond Human: Living with Robots and Cyborgs, Gregory Benford and Elisabeth Malartre, Forge (Tor), $24.95, 261 pp. (ISBN: 0-7653-1082-1).
Night Smoke: Bruce Boston, ill. Marge Simon, Kelp Queen Press (kelpqueenpress.com), $18.00, 68 pp. (ISBN: 978-0-9689934-6-0).
A Thousand Deaths, George Alec Effinger, Golden Gryphon Press, $24.95, 340 pp. (ISBN: 978-1-930846-47-9).
* * * *
When we last met Alec Checkerfield (in The Machine's Child, reviewed here in January/February 2007), he was sharing his brain with the mind-records of his predecessor clones, Victorian Edward and Elizabethan Nicholas, his beloved Botanist Mendoza was more than a bit confused at the constant shifting of voices and personalities, and the immortal cyborg troops of the Company (a.k.a. Dr. Zeus), once dedicated to rescuing the treasures of the past before their destruction by fire, flood, eruption, and war (etc.) for the delectation and enrichment of the future, were plotting rebellion against their masters, who had shown a distressing tendency to put unwanted servants in cold storage or even subject them to endless, agonizing (and ultimately fruitless) efforts to destroy them. And the year 2355, when all the Company's records of the future fall silent, was fast approaching.
The Sons of Heaven completes the series. The Company still wants to destroy its staff and has engaged the services of a strange and vindictive folk who remind the reader of faerie (they live under the hill, they have a queen, they're small) to find a poison that will do the job. They seem to have succeeded, or at least the test subject, cyborg Lewis, has been tossed into the bone pile. Yet Lewis isn't quite dead, and when the queen's young successor stumbles upon him, he responds to care enough to start talking, telling stories, asking for nutrients to aid his further recovery, and desperately craving to send word of the poison. Meanwhile the cyborgs have multiple factions, all scheming to overcome the Company in 2355 and make the future theirs. At least one faction thinks the world would be better off without people in it.
And Alec's body is now dominated by Edward alone. Mendoza is pregnant with twins, clones, ready to be infused with the recorded minds of Alec and Nicholas. Alec's—now Edward's—piratical AI, Captain Morgan, has used the time-ship to fi
nd an idyllic island outside of time where the kids can be raised, and if the island sounds a bit heavenly, well, Baker has to justify the title somehow.
What happens in 2355? Things come to a head, of course, but you don't need me to tell you that. Baker has a great many balls in the air, and she has displayed so much skill as this series has developed that you just know she will manage to set them all down on the table without dropping a one. On the way, she does a few tricks that strained my credulity a bit but never broke it. Her reputation is intact at the end, and even enhanced. The Company series seems bound to enter the records as a classic. Certainly it will be hard to top, though Tor assures us that Baker is not done.
Don't miss it.
* * * *
Matthew Jarpe's first novel, Radio Freefall, is interesting but has serious difficulty in convincing the reader to suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy the story. The basic problem is the villain, Walter Cheeseman, who has a plot to unify and rule the world by convincing governments to give his private company, WebCense, more and more government functions, to the point where there is nothing left for government. Cheeseman isn't there yet, but he already controls all news and entertainment and he's working on it; if all goes well ... My own thought is that he'll get what he wants when pigs fly.
But never mind. The tale opens at a concert where mystery guitarist and singer Aqualung, with the Snake Vendors band, is exercising a gizmo that picks up and feeds back audience response to give the audience exactly the high old time they crave. Meanwhile Quin Taber is demonstrating a special computer, the “isolate,” that is proof against the Digital Carnivore, a life form evolved from an ancient virus. Taber was fired from WebCense when he tried to convince Cheeseman the beast was real. Now Cheeseman is trying to use the discovery to firm up WebCense control of the Net but not getting anywhere. But Taber is tracking the Digital Carnivore's origins to ancient hackers and the rock band Animal Bones and discovering that its secrets appear to be locked with passwords drawn from a never-produced album.
Aqualung and his group get famous (feedback works!). Soon his true identity comes out: he is Adrian Rifkin, once of the Animal Bones. Cheeseman gets wind of this and sends out the squad to cut off his head, freeze it, and bring it in so its memories can be scanned. An old foe reactivates an unfulfilled contract on him. He escapes just in time, though, and soon winds up on the space station Freefall (which looks rather like the Stanley Cup) on his way to the Moon, which is resisting WebCense's efforts to establish control. WebCense cuts off traffic to the Moon, trapping Rifkin, and soon it is clear that WebCense is going to send troops to destroy Freefall and kill or reprogram everyone aboard. Cheeseman is already telling the world, through the media he controls, that Freefall is in the throes of rebellion and systems failure. He's sending rescuers, not troops. He really wants Rifkin's secrets!
Analog SFF, November 2007 Page 23
